


Vampires in Disguise

by CircuitSaloon



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Drama, Gen, Murder Mystery, Suspense, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:53:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28075002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CircuitSaloon/pseuds/CircuitSaloon
Summary: Another mech was found dead. Frame completely greyed out, the only bit of color being the last of their energon staining down their neck cables. Two perfectly drilled holes right through the main fuel line. The exact same way as the previous victims.Who or what is doing this, and who will stop them?
Kudos: 1





	Vampires in Disguise

Another mech was found dead. Frame completely greyed out, the only bit of color being the last of their energon staining down their neck cables. Two perfectly drilled holes right through the main fuel line. The exact same way as the previous victims.

The people of the Satellite Space Station were panicked and needed answers. Every couple of days another mech would go missing and would be found later, dead. The people were afraid to leave their homes or go out during the late recharge hours. They called the Security Department, blowing up the communication lines to get through to someone who could give them some sort of response.

Crowbar, being the secretary, took the brunt of the calls. It annoyed him to no end. He had better things to do than to say “The Security Department has not released an official statement yet” over and over again like a broken record. But if he was being honest, he wasn’t going to be verbalizing any of his complaints about it. They’d eventually be relayed back to Airstrike who was under far too much stress and pressure as it was.

Still being honest, at least, within himself, _he was concerned about her._

Most of her time at the department was spent in her office, which wasn’t unusual. But when she was out of her office it was very clear on her face that she was...unhappy. Crowbar was quick to notice the change in her expression. He’d been looking at it for years and had become accustomed to her serious and firm countenance. However, her optics reflected pain and sorrow with the recent events.

The motorcycle felt bad for his employer. She was the one that everyone trusted to ensure the safety of the Satellite Space Station. And now, the people she was watching over were dropping like nanoflies. _“Surely, she must be being hard on herself,”_ Crowbar thought.

His thoughts about her were stopped by the sound of the intercom overhead.

_ “Crowbar, come to my office at your earliest convenience.” _

It was Airstrike.

* * *

The large seeker massaged the space between her optics. She was clearly frustrated by the goings on. When Crowbar had come in she let out a deep sigh. He sat down in front of her.

“Crowbar,” she began, sounding unenthusiastic, “I need you to contact the press.” Crowbar looked at her with unwavering attention, nodding as she spoke. “I’d like to set up a press conference outside of the station tomorrow evening. It’s time I gave a solid statement.” Crowbar agreed, already planning out the memo he would send out. “Have the detectives returned with anything yet?” she asked.

“No,” Crowbar answered back. “They haven’t.”

“Hm. I see,” said Airstrike. “Well, hopefully they return soon. I could use some good news before I go and face the public.”

* * *

Airstrike’s optics reflected the flashes of the press’ cameras as she stood at the podium looking as dignified as ever. She was surrounded by a sea of mechs from not only the Satellite Space Station, but other space stations within the Cybertronian Neutral Zone. The news of a potential serial killer with a strange calling card spread fast among neutral space. After a moment, she raised a hand to silence the murmurs from the crowd. Reporters held up microphones, _sentient and non,_ towards her, trying to catch every word from her vocalizer.

“Citizens, it is with a heavy spark that I stand before you today. The day before last, yet another one of our citizens was taken from us by this unknown killer. Our sincerest regards go to the friends and loved ones of the victims. But rest assured, the Satellite Security Department will not stop until they’re detained and prosecuted to the fullest extent.”

As she finished her statement, a swarm of servos rose from the masses of reporters and camera crews, begging for her Attention. She pointed at a small mech in the front, who looked too cheery for his own good. Hopefully, picking them first wouldn’t be a mistake.

“This is Radiowave coming to you _LIVE_ from the Satellite Spacestation. Security Chief Airstrike, our Chatterbot listeners want to know...do you think mechs with sharp denta or fangs should be interrogated as possible suspects given the calling card of the killer?”

_“Absolutely not,”_ she replied, standing straight. “This is a department of standards and we wholeheartedly abstain from discrimination of _any_ kind. Given what we know currently, it's too early to assume any profiling details of the killer.”

“Are you saying this because _you yourself_ have fangs?” Radiowave asked. Airstrike looked down at the brightly colored minibot with almost a glare, but caught herself as she was reminded that she had several camera lenses pointed at her.

_ “No further questions at this time.” _

* * *

Crowbar walked from the break room with a cup of hot energon. It wasn’t for himself. It was for Airstrike. She was having a really tough time with these cases and no leads coming back from the detectives working on them. The press conference hadn’t _exactly_ gone her way either. But in her defense, there wasn’t much for her to say.

He knocked on the door before entering, smiling a little as the seeker looked up from her computer screen.

“I brought you some energon,” he said, trying to lighten her mood. Her face softened a bit at the gesture, but the troubled look never left her optics.

“Thank you, Crowbar,” she said, taking the cup from him. She took a sip, watching as her two-wheeled secretary seated himself in front of her. “Is there something you want to talk about?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t be too worried about that Radiowave guy,” he began, not making optic contact with her. “The Chatterbot is just a tabloid podcasting station. Mostly outrageous things like conspiracy theories.”

“I appreciate your concern,” she said, her lips smiling into the edge of her cup. “But there really wasn’t a whole lot to disclose publicly about these cases or the killer that’s still on the loose.” Airstrike took another sip of the hot drink he had brought her. It tasted fine, but it wasn’t satisfying.

Crowbar rose from his seat, leaving the Chief of Police to tend to her work. But as he stood at the door to leave, he turned back around toward the red mech. “I’m...concerned about you,” Crowbar admitted to her nervously. “Don’t stress yourself too much,” he added.

“I won’t,” she smiled.

* * *

Radiowave was found dead the next morning. 

His frame was greyed out, same as the others, and the identical punctures were found on the main fuel line of his neck cabling. The people were yet again in a state of panic. But this time, there was a strong air of suspicion with the radio player’s death. Most remembered the statement he had made to Airstrike about people with fangs being likely suspects, and division began to rise between the citizens. If the killer wasn’t found fast, things could turn ugly just as quick.

**Author's Note:**

> Another idea that I've been thinking of for a while! I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> If you like this fic or the characters in it you can read more about them in Hammer & Nails, my original Transformers series in my Works section. You can also find me @CircuitSaloon on Twitter!


End file.
